


twenty-two: over soon

by rleucos



Category: The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: Bit of Angst., Canon Divergence, I don't know what this is., Multi, hathor&ihy can probably be ocs but try to pry them from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-08-10 00:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20126467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rleucos/pseuds/rleucos
Summary: a freak accident leads to the pharaoh being kidnapped for a year. he returns home, and isn't it more interesting to see the fallout? nome politics, personal relationships, and isis' sanity are all at stake.under revision/on hiatus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “22-over soon” by bon iver, bc apparently i thought that was a good song

## CHAPTER ONE

“Mother, please," Horus starts, hands held out in a pleading manner. He turns on the charm. His little prince lays behind the door Isis guards, arms crossed over her chest.

"He needs rest, Horus. Not his boyfriend breathing down his neck." His proud facade breaks. Mother never refers to Carter as his boyfriend, nothing outside of his 'plaything'. "He is fine, my king. Trust in his ability to recover and mine to heal."

"Mother," he pleads, smiling weakly down at her. He doesn't want to play the pharaoh card. Mother should listen to him as her 'darling little boy'. "I won't disturb him. I need to see him, Great Mother, with my own eyes. My beloved host is right there and you're keeping me from him."

She takes him in, sad smile, deflated posture. Her hand brushes his cheek. "I'll hear everything. If you disturb him I'll know," she warns firmly. “Don’t think I won’t ruin your reunion.”

He nods. "I know. Thank you, Mother." He kisses her forehead, quickly changing the downtrodden frown into a beaming smile.

She sighs fondly. "You're wrapped around that boy's finger."

"I know," he responds with a light chuckle.

Horus takes note to treat her to dinner one day. He slips into the room with trepidation. Taking hesitant, quiet steps (why is he shaking?) he closes the distance to Carter. His precious host lays _right there_, a few feet before him, home for the first time in a year.

No. Home is Carter's apartment which he's kept the rent up on. Home is Carter's blankets and sweatshirts and coffee brew, the familiar hum of his car and lecture halls. His step quickens. He deserves to be home.

He settles quickly, quietly on the edge of the bed. Horus's breath catches. His hair is overgrown, cheeks sunken in and hollowed, once pristine linen shirt now frayed and dirty. The sheet pulled up to his waist does not hide the way his shirt hangs off his emaciated body. The kid has never been particularly _strong_ looking but now he's absolutely weak. His chest moves in hiccuping motions, breath ragged.

Horus has quelled most of his anger, through careful fits of throwing furniture, fists in walls, and moments of gluttony. Healthy options. Seeing Carter like this does nothing to keep it subdued.

"Oh, Carter." He is the only noise in this room. "Where'd you go?" The silence is deafening. He scrapes his sandaled foot across the floor. "I missed you, terribly so, although I feel that is obvious. I will admit to going into a rage after I discovered that you were...gone. But Hathor calmed me down, it's what she does best you see." He longs to feel Carter's hand in his.

Gently, as to not disturb him and alert Mother, he slips his hand on top of his limp one. His fingers ghost over the pale wrist. "After I regained my composure I sent Raia and the lot after you. Everyday. If I could be out there I was. What good I did," he mutters bitterly. The griffons did their jobs, but not even Muyet's strong nose could detect the princeling.

Malnourished and diminished, Carter is still beautiful. Hopefully, the glow of his skin returns soon. He brushes his overgrown bangs out of the way. "You need a haircut, dearest." He taps his brow to the sleeping prince's. Isn't his culture the one with the story of the sleeping princess awoken by true love's kiss? No, she was poisoned, not induced into a sleep to help her heal. There is nothing mystical about Carter's coma.

"I understand you cannot hear me...I would like to pretend you can. I love you, tremendously so. Now that I have you again, I venomously refuse to lose you." He allows himself a small laugh. "Goodness, darling. If you thought I was protective of you before, you haven't seen anything."

A small sigh. The room is quiet, encased by a false serenity. Horus settles in, dragging time out best he can. A gorgeous underfed host who desperately needs him now, no denying it, lays underneath him. He realizes bitterly: this is what he's wanted. Carter, desperate and at his will, needing a defender more than ever.

No, he reprimands harshly. He wanted him to need protecting in simple ways: reminding him to wear a scarf, pulling him away when he's worked too long, donning kisses across his forehead. He never wanted Carter broken.

He laughs very quietly. "I'm going to go now, my beloved host. I couldn't let myself get into a snit, not while you're so delicate. I do believe we still hold a deep bond. I wish upon you good health. Be well underneath the prowess of our healers, my mortal king." He squeezes his hand affectionately, soothingly. "I'll run home. You're in dire need of new clothes, and since it looks like you'll be here awhile, I will get you some books and one of your blankets." He begins to rise, parting heavily from the princeling.

To his surprise, there is weak, faint return in the grip. "He...ru." So faint, not even a murmur, his hearing barely catching it. His heart flutters.

"That's right, Carter. You're safe now, dearest. Rest."

Carter whimpers. "Cold." His sweet voice is harsh. Horus starts to pull up the blanket one handed. "No...it was...so cold there. Glad to be...back."

He bites his cheek. "Where were you?" he asks quietly, shooting a furtive glance, expecting Isis to burst in.

His eyes snap open, settling on his face. Never in a thousand years could he envision himself scared of Carter, but now his fluttering heart almost stops cold. “Heru,” he sobs. He attempts to sit up, wobbling, moving too fast for the state he’s in. “Heru,” he cries again, and he gives in, carefully pulling him up. The princeling carries forward with the momentum, falling into Horus, startling him; he hates himself for it, but he loses balance and they topple off the bed.

Horus holds Carter tightly, barely noticing the weight. “Heru-ur, Heru-ur-Aset, Herupakhred, Heru,” he carries on, louder with each name. Clearly weak, Horus’ memories leaking into the poor thing. He shushes the mortal best he can, rubbing his back, lips to his greasy scalp, stomach twisting with a sickness at the feeling of ribs. Mother’s bound to come in with the wailing.

The crying putters out, confused, sketchy hazel staring at him. “Wh—Where am I? How did I get here?” He attempts to sit up once more, but Horus learnt his lesson the first time, placing a hand on his back.

“You’re—“ _obviously not fully here, awaken prematurely, _“—you’re okay, my beloved host. It’s the middle of the night. Back to bed. You’ve court, remember?” Lying to him is painful, but best. If he’s tramping around in Horus’ memories, let him; he can keep up the illusion for his sake.

His cries are over, but now come the hiccups. “I do?” He blinks, confusion ebbing out slowly. “I do. You’re right. It’s so cold, why is it so cold? Heru-ur, you’re warm.” That damn name. “You’ll come back to bed with me, won’t you?”

Oh, how he wants to. Curl Carter against him and never let him leave. An immortal sleep would heal him perfectly. And how he can’t. It will only spur his anger along. “For a few moments, beloved host. Then I have to leave to attend to a few things.”

“But it’s the middle of the night. Heru-_ur_,” burrowing in his neck. At least that hasn’t changed. The boy’s toothbrush too. “You’re so warm. Are you sick?”

“Let’s get you back to bed, beloved host. Come on.” He carefully sits up, holding Carter against himself and placing the light body onto the bed. Kneeling beside the bed on the floor, Horus brushes his bangs out of his face. “Would you care for your comforter?” A nod, his eyes already heavy. “Give me thirty seconds. Don’t go anywhere.” He would — he would do something terrible to himself if he let Carter slip away again.

He’s quick in the apartment, pulling off the top two layers of their bed. The boy’s cold. Thirty seconds. He grabs a sweater for the princeling, not quite sure who it belongs to, and clean pants that are some style he can’t bother to remember the name of.

Back in twenty-eight seconds, Carter’s heavy eyes watching the spot he left. They briefly light up at seeing him, attempting once more to sit up, but giving up fairly quickly. “Heru-ur,” he mutters; he wants him to smile, but it doesn’t come. “Twenty-eight seconds.”

Horus assists him in sitting up, leaving the blankets on the foot of the bed. “I’ll try to be faster next time,” he says softly. “Here, I brought you a sweater.”

His dreams of Carter changing in front of him are thwarted, and whatever physical damage he may have remains a mystery, beloved host pulling sweater overtop his linens. It’s made marginally better by the fact it is one of Horus’ sweaters that he grabbed in his confusion, then made worse by the way it hangs more than usual off his body.

“Heru-ur,” he learned that name somewhere, and most definitely not from him. “Lay down. I’m cold. Can you turn the heat on? Does this place even have heating?”

“I’ll get you heat, dear boy,” he promises. “Lay down. I’ll tuck you in.” He smiles lazily, and Carter cocks his head but follows, arm beneath his head. First their quilt, bought by Mother, geometrical shapes splattering it in a haze of colors, then their comforter, green, ugly, but bought _together_ at some nice store he doesn’t remember the name of. Horus brushes those greasy bangs from his face.

He shifts. “I asked you to lay down, Heru-ur.” A pull on his armor, softly demanding everything out of him.

Carter pulls the blankets back, tired eyes having a surprising amount of fire in them. “Yes, beloved host.” He slides in behind him, bone-thin Carter pressing against his chest. Horus drops his arm around him, and it’s amazing how _fast_ Carter falls asleep. It use to take him an hour.

More aware of when he leaves, though. Attempting to slip out, tired hazel roll on him, a sad, pathetic, “I’m cold.”

Horus smiles. “Sorry, dear host.” He waits the customary hour now, rubbing his stomach. Kisses his temple, and slowly edges out of bed, props the blankets behind him, waving his hand over him with a basic spell to keep him warm.

Mother is still waiting outside. She looks at him from the ground, and he helps her up. Her mouth opens, and he spills. “He woke up. The boy’s freezing. Get him heating. I don’t care how. He keeps calling me Heru-ur, and before that he ran through all my names.”

She purses her lips. “That is…peculiar. I’ll check on him. He’s weakened. Your memories have likely wormed their way into his psyche.” Bad, stupid god, always hurting Carter.

Trying to not dwell, he sighs. Carter is _home. _Carter is _healable. _Be grateful. He has him back where he belongs. "I'm...going to meet Sadie. I'll see you whenever Carter asks." Isis smiles at him. "I want guards posted. No admittance outside of healers, yourself, Aunt Nephthys, and Hathor-Sekhmet." His tongue is heavy.

Mother's slim hands slip into his. "Baby boy, please relax. It does no one well to see you, our king, our chosen leader, so tense. Give Sadie my regards." She is the sun, more so than he, radiant smiles and gleaming skin. Her dark eyes sparkle like the Nile. This is where he gets it from — Father is gloomy, even before death, always content to be outshined by his sister-wife. Nut, too, gives him part of her radiance, the stars he has reign over and the smoothness of his face.

He bows his head to hers. "Of course. I will see you later, Mother dearest." (a fond memory of carter calling him a 'mama's boy'.)”

* * *

"It's just, surreal." Sadie's hands grips her mug firmly. It is tight yet her hands continue to shake. "Carter's home." Her hair has lost its' brilliant shine the past few months.

She was the one to find him, miraculously.

He falls into the ritualistic habit, brushing loose hairs away from her right temple, kissing the spot chastely. "There should be fresh milk in the fridge. Should." He may have kept up the bills, but Sadie restocked the fridge in case their Carter somehow found his way home. "You can rest now, Sadie. Take a bath. Your hair was one of your few redeeming qualities, and now you don't have much going for you."

She rolls her eyes weakly. "How is he? Any better?" Her crystal blue eyes glance towards the pile on the counter.

His hands go on autopilot, putting their spoons in the sink, honey in the cabinet. "Yes. He," Sadie is to be trusted, "woke up briefly." He recounts what transpired for her. His mouth tastes faintly metallic. "The women will be there to help Isis along, as well as Sekhmet."

Her eyes widened. "Why the she-lion?"

"Talented healer. Hathor will be in control. If I may, I would have liked to marry Sekhmet. There's something about her personality that's so...pleasing." He shoots Sadie a grin, a feeble attempt to diffuse the magical charge growing in the room. "But, sadly, I never got a pick in my initial wives, you see, they were picked to curb my temper tantrums."

Sadie chuckles. "So you picked Carter, the most un-Sekhmet like person possible?" Her eyes waver with fondness and mirth.

"He's Hathor-like." Horus settles with her at the table. "You're too much of my sister Isis for me to enjoy your presence." A lie, if their encounters before Carter's disappearance counts for anything.

Her breath escapes her ruefully. This part of her is Mother Isis – tired and worn out, ragged with frantic care for her family. Ruby, the children's mother, usually is this side. "He's home. I'm so relieved." Her shawl is too large on her frame, weight lost the past year. "My biggest fear wasn't him coming home. It was the fault that he could end up like those Roman ghosts, an improper burial, keeping him trapped here forever. The thought of him being consumed by his rage till someone stumbled upon his remains-I couldn't."

His king being eternally trapped on the mortal plane. It is an afterlife that befits none of his people, even the Romans, and certainly for not for such a grand, young king. He hates the thought, anger flaring in him. "I will bring justice for Carter. Whoever did this will pay dearly. I assure you," and myself.

Sadie smiles. "I know. We could always go rough up Set for old times' sake."

Horus grins fondly. "I promised Aunt Nephthys we would stop." Now that Set is not his Lord of Chaos, instead sworn under Ra's duty, does Nephthys become his wife. Safer.

Memories flicker briefly, the absolute power high that came from pinning Set to a wall by the collar of his annoyingly red suit. Sadie had questioned him, sharp grin, rolling his Secret Name over her tongue. He had tried to retain it, but every time the purr reached his ears, it garbled and dissipated. Set had sworn, with the smirk that made Horus almost break his jaw, that he was 'On their side now.'

The girl laughs. "I'm going to take that bath. You can clean up, right?”

His nose wrinkles. "I guess." The Pharaoh of Kemet cleaning up after a pseudo-princess. "Take your time, brat."

Quiet time is good. The sound of running water and the slowly shrinking part of his mind devoted to Carter, thanks to his return, makes for an overall good Saturday. He filters through Carter's closest, fingers ghosting over the dusty, forgotten shirts, complete with stale scents. He should get them laundered before the kid comes home. What had Sadie said about moth balls?

Too late.

He fingers the once-immaculate collars, nostalgia tugging at him. Five thousand years and a little over a decade with Carter is what stirs memories. Those are crisper, fresher, independent of who he's meant to. He forgoes the stuffy button ups, barely stretching to reach the top shelf and pull down the clear plastic bin of older clothes. Less used would be an appropriate adjective. A mix of Carter's winter wears and whatever Horus refuses to wear (a gaudy sweater from Sadie (8th birthday with them), Hathor's knitting mania, and scattered jewelry from youth). Buried beneath everything is their jointly used sweatshirt, a soothing combination of them.

Carter needs rest. Horus will do the exact opposite. He is selfish, will pull the poor boy from bed, hold him too tightly and spin him right and round. He hasn't seen the boy in over a year, and all he wants to do is spoil him ruthlessly. Ruin him. It's glaring that his darling prince has not been treated right. Everything cries out to put the kid back in the lap of luxury, his sweet, sweet Carter Kane. Somebody damaged his, and to what extent Mother keeps hidden ("Horus, I can't trust you.").

His teeth grind together. No more holes in walls. Profuse overdone apologies to the landlord while Sadie laid her hand on his arm, promising to have it repaired in the morning. ("The only reason you kids still live here is because the rent's always on time and a hundred extra.") "Never thought I'd see you throw a temper tantrum," she had clicked her tongue, "really not befitting of the king." Such insolence calls for punishment, but when he looks, it isn't the youngest Kane reprimanding him, it's Isis, try as she might to curb his habits to mold him into a presentable king.

The god keeps himself on autopilot. Easier that way. Muscle memory performs the menial work. Thinking about nothing is easy. (there is a joke somewhere in there.) A worn hilt finds it way to his hand with innocence and accidents. It's a comfort, the heavy, familiar weight of times passed.

"_Horus_!" A cacophony from the bathroom. There is no worry, her shriek is far too joyous and ringing. Too ringing, he notes, rubbing his sensitive ears. "Idea!"  
He back steps to stand outside the closed bathroom door, arms crossed over his chest. "Sadie. Don't hurt yourself." He's fine to carry on like this, her in a separate room. But she has to step out, wrapped in nothing but a towel and he has to feign interest in the ceiling. He’s seen her in far less, but the context matters.

"Real funny. Remember that we couldn't locate his ba? Nobody could pull him. Or find him with scrying. You know Zia, right?" She bounces on her toes.

"I prefer to not think about Ra's brat."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Jealousy? Anyway, we had the same problem with her. She was kept underwater. The one place magic can't reach." She looks positively excited. She intrudes on his personal space, standing on her tiptoes. Her grin is feral.

Her voice starts up again. "Whoever took him understood how to keep him isolated. Two options."

Horus glances down at her. Her hair drips copious amounts of water on the floor. "Factions against the gods still exist. The easiest way to cause Chaos is to remove the mortal king, a pillar of Ma'at and key host to the god king," he says. Magic is not his field of expertise – combat, falcons and the monarchy is. He has not taken a lot of hosts this time around, none human outside of Carter.

Sadie nods. "An entire group dedicated against us on an entire continent of frozen water. You know what a continent is, right?"

"I know geography, brat." He wraps an extra towel around her head, playfully (affectionately) ruffling her hair.

She huffs. "Terms change, man." Her grin spreads. White teeth in a wet face. "You're following my thought, right?"

"Yes. For someone to kidnap the king, it would have to be someone who understands how to keep gods out." Horus steers her back towards the bathroom. "Clothes on, brilliant child, so I can embrace you." Thus far, he's been the least instrumental in his prince's coming home.

* * *

“How’re you feeling?” Carter’s knees drawn to his chest, clothed, a thousand yard stare home on his face: enter Horus’ worse dreams realized. The water running in the next room, Mother’s steady presence in preparing the bath, grounds him that this is reality, albeit distorted. “Beloved host, I—“ _have a thousand things to say but I’m not very eloquent, you know that_, “—I had the servants make that dessert you like so much; Mother Nut sent you a mix of her sahlab, so maybe after your bath we can–“

“He can go to bed.” Ruby must have helped her dress this morning, slim jeans, plaited hair. “Horus, out. I’ll bring you back in.”

Anger boiling, “Mother–“

“_Now.” _He listens, not without complaint, shoving himself off the floor and slamming the door behind him (immediately regretting it, hearing Carter’s yelp). He leans against the door, playing with the handle of his sword. _His_ Carter, _his _host, and kicked out like trash.

Horus listens to Mother talk to an unresponsive Carter, her carefully explaining the next few hours. “You don’t have to undress before me. But if you want Horus to stick around — do you?” A pause. “Alright. You’ll need glamoured. It won’t hinder your bathing, not at all, but you know Horus’ temper.”

Ten minutes of Mother chanting. A glamour strong enough to not be ruined by water. But more so: what damage is done to Carter that it would pique his anger? Besides the obvious_ being gone_. He taps his foot against the ground loudly, growing agitated with Carter out of sight.

Another two minutes. What’s twelve minutes compared to Carter being gone for an entire year? Everything. The most powerful witch may be guarding him, but anything could happen. “Mother!”

“Come in, Horus.” Gladly. Mother sits on the edge of Carter’s bed, her legs crossed. “I’m going to trust you and leave you alone with the boy. Don’t try anything. You’re not good enough at magic to remove my glamour. If I feel there’s any funny business I will intervene, and you will not see him again until he’s well.” _His_ Carter. _His. _Denying him access to _his_.

“Aset–“ Carter’s scratchy voice, loud yet soft, calms him.

“He’s coming, darling.” She sighs. “The naming is weird. He went through Ament to Usert until I calmed him. I cannot fix his little memory leak. That’s all you.” She stands, smoothimg her shirt. “Be good,” she finishes with a kiss.

Up to him. Perfect. Great. He kisses her forehead in turn, and she’s gone in a poof.

He slides his sandals off. “May I come in, beloved host?”

“Heru-ur!” He sounds so _happy. _His heart skips. “Please.”

Horus can’t say no to him. Never could and never will. He enters the bathroom, only Carter’s head poking out of the water. He sits up, water good for sore bodies, brilliant smile, oil enhanced water swirling around his midriff. Smooth, paling skin. He needs sun. “Heru-ur, join me,” he asks, chirping almost.

“I can’t, dear host. Mother would have my hide.” His eyes are dull. Painful.

He shrinks. “I don’t care what Aset wants. What about what I want?” Kiss him. Claim him. Shut up. He’s healing. He’s fresh. His mind isn't all there. _You’d feel horrible if you took advantage of him in his current state._

Gently shaking his head, he sits up by his top, dropping his feet in the water. “I would love to, my beloved, but if I upset Aset I have to leave you. I’m right here.” His clothes folded on a bench, old linens burnt up, if the taste in the air says anything. He forgot underwear, but Mother likely saw his misstep and provided some.

He hasn’t had a proper bath since Carter left, he realizes. He bathed, but nothing fun, nothing relaxing. In, out. Out, in. Skimping on sleep is one thing. Hygiene? Less so. That would be the perfect reason to join him. “Come here, beloved host.” Gently tilts Carter’s head up, kissing his forehead multiple times. “I love you so very much. Enjoy your bath.”

Carter _giggles_, pressing his cheek (what little of it exists) to his knee. Oh, they’ve been here before, a thousand times, but this time it’s innocent. Horus lays another kiss to his darling, giddy off of how it makes him feel. “You should help me wash my hair, Heru-ur,” he mutters, eyes shutting, leaning into his affections. A year.

“How could I say no to you?” He can't. That’s his problem. “Enjoy your bath first, soak. Take your time. You don’t have to rush for anything.” He runs his hand that mess of hair, gently lifting his head, pushing him back.

“…Heru-ur?”

A sigh. “What, dear boy?”

He yanks at his leg, “Please come in, _please_?” His pouty face works less with how little fat is on his face. Horus carefully pries his fingers off. “He_ru_-ur!” Pained. Why is he pained? Back for a few hours and he is wrapped snugly around his finger once more. Make him happy. Gods above and below, how he wants him _happy_ and _healthy_.

He kisses him again, quieting him. “Alright, alright.” A blinding smile, scooting over to give him room. Horus looks at the door, sighs, pulling his armor and skirt off. “_Do not_ speak about this, understood? Or else Heru-ur has to go away for a long time.” Carter nods, staring at him as he slips in the water. Neither of them move, Carter’s animalistic gaze heavy.

“Come…come here, little thing.” He gently grabs his arms, pulling him into his side. “I missed you, beloved host,” he says, again, and bound to say it a thousand times more. “I _miss _you.”

He’s quiet, curling up, burrowing into his neck. Innocence. Nothing terrible, just existing with his beloved mortal. Bone thin everywhere. Part two of fattening Carter up. “Are you hungry, beloved mortal?” he asks, “I can have dinner sent now, if you want. Would you like that? You can have whatever you please, dear host.” Horus rubs his back, nuzzling his hair.

“…I’m cold. Why am I always cold?” he asks, wrapping his arm around his chest. “_Heru-ur_, why aren’t you keeping me warm?” he complains, pulling himself on his lap. “I’m cold and Heru-ur won’t keep me warm.” So _good _at making Horus feel terrible.

“I’m sorry, dear host.” Carefully adjusting, he drags his finger over the edge of the tub, for once accurate with his script, heating the water up a few degrees. “Better?” The water tickles his own skin, warming him even.

Carter burrows tighter, nodding. “I’m glad, beloved host. You’re the most precious thing on this earth and this heaven to me.”

His beloved _everything _looks up at him. Slight cock of the head, then he presses that devilish little mouth to his, brief, fleeting, reigniting an old hunger that Horus has suppressed, laying his head on his shoulder. It’s such a quick feeling that Horus, stupidly, needs a moment to catch up. Once he does, once his old, defunct brain realizes what’s happened, he swallows the budding feeling to _cry_, a silent one he has not felt in centuries. Forgetting for the time who Carter is now (_quiet_, _sick, confused_), he holds him tightly, forcing himself _there, there _is Carter who is his who is home who blissfully is here who is–

“Heru-ur,” he chokes.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He loosens up, brushing his lips over his forehead. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?” Carter shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I know you’re comfortable, but you definitely need cleaned up. I’ll keep you warm, I promise.” _I promise_, as if he hasn’t failed Carter in every conceivable way.

A groan, fingers curling on his chest. “Fine, Heru-ur. Whatever.”

It’s…awkward. Things shouldn’t be awkward with _his_ Carter, but they are. Carter is all degrees of refusal, almost childish in how he ducks away from his hands. He...almost understands why. Carter is not fully present, not exactly, and every time Carter is ill (fever, mostly) he turns terribly petulant. This cannot be that much different.

Horus carefully moves the mortal off his lap, gently straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks, wash rag rough on his jaw, he says as softly as he can imagine, “You need to work with me, dear host. Alright? Work with Heru-ur.” Carter stares at him heavily, before hiding in his chest. He drops his voice an octave. “What’s up, baby? What has you so quiet?” _Besides the obvious, idiot_. He moves the rag down his jaw, scrubbing terribly gently.

“I’m confused, Heru-ur, why am I confused?” Sweeping down his jaw, tenderly working the washcloth on his neck. “You should do my hair first, Heru-ur, so the rest of me isn’t soiled more.” Carter, surprisingly, snugly envelops Horus’ waist, pulling him closer, settling more on his chest.

Horus sighs lovingly if tired. “Of course, beloved host. I apologize for my mistake.” Letting the rag fall with a satisfying _plop_, he wets his hands and runs them through the mortal’s hair. “As for the confusion…well, Heru-ur will take care of that too. Heru-ur will take care of you.” With blunt nails he scrubs at Carter’s scalp. “Trust me.”

* * *

Sadie takes it upon herself to explain their conclusion to Mother. She looks pleased with herself, picking at her dinner supplied by Mother ("Horus lets you eat these frozen...things?") with more ease anyone has had. The girl eats like she's starved, popping fresh beef and vegetables, a meal prepared by Mother Isis, former queen of Kemet and mother of the king cooking for her two spoiled children. He eats reluctantly as she gave him a particularly nasty glare.

And Carter would want him to. He forwent eating and sleeping the past year, things he only did because his mortal king requested it. Once his prince heals he'll assume the habit again, to make Carter feel more at home and situated more than anything.

The Avenger in him would like to know what happened to his prince. Reign his fury down upon down those who dare harm the monarch and sublimely divine bloodline, down upon those who dare traumatize his little prince, deliciously issue free save for anxiety and a scorpion phobia.

As Carter's boyfriend he wants no knowledge outside of he's safe. He hopes that Carter represses it all, move on and leave everything to Horus. Finish school, stay home, live a small stress free life devoid of the past year that somehow Horus will give to him.

"And that's why," Sadie stands, "I propose yours truly going to Antarctica and finding the truth from the inside."

Mother and son clip at once: "Absolutely not." Mother is more forceful, adding on, "We just got our pharaoh back, and you want to go running off on a half cooked idea? There are none with a noble enough lineage today to sit on the throne if something were to happen to your family. All would be in vain."

She chuckles. "I get that, Isis. We can't send Carter, you two are gods, and nobody else could do it. 'Oh, hey, who wants to go to a hostile ice island full of homicidal magicians?' People will be lining up!" She stands firm with fists on her hips. "Glamour me up, say I'm a witch who killed someone, I bring out my less than _pleasant_ personality and it all works out."

Horus agrees on not sending the prince. He isn't going anywhere not attached to his arm. "You expect me to allow the pseudo princess of an already weak Kemet to go defenseless into enemy territory?" Her grin grows. His fork shoves food around the plate. He would rather it be Sadie than Carter wandering, but neither of the children should.

He warily eyes the pile of belongings he needs to bring Carter. All this talk of Sadie going on her own suicide mission makes his heart heavy. (his kingdom is falling apart. was it ever rebuilt?)

"Sadie." She stops, two sets of blue eyes snapped on him; Mother changes too often. "Hurry your meal, so I can take you to see him."

* * *

Horus stands by the door, watching Sadie embrace the woken, coherent prince. He plays with the handle of his khopesh (safe safe the prince is safe safe safe), feigning interest in little details of the palace he's memorized.

Sadie sounds as if she is crying. He will not mention it. The pseudo princess has all the right to cry. Her hands wrap tight around Carter, holding him (his magic flairs, claim the prince claim the prince). Carter, oh fantastic Carter, laughs lightly.

"Hi, sis,_ hi_." Horus's heart crawls in his throat. His voice is rough, yet still very him. "Loosen up, sis, you're crushing me." His heart is not strong enough, no, not for Carter wrapping his arms around his sister and muttering into her hair, 'I'm glad to be home.'

He snaps the hilt of the sword. He watches the bold strains of magic that trickle out and go to fix the outcomes of a wrecked god. A misuse of his power, or is it? Fixing what was destroyed by Chaos, not making something new, allowing things to last.

"Birdie." Carter's laugh is directed at him now. His heart slows. "What are you doing in the corner, man?" He detangles from Sadie, patting the space beside him on the bed. There is a certain to look in his eyes, soft and hopeful. Is this his same prince who just earlier wasn't awake, cold and limp, drowsily blaming himself? Then a mess of cold complaints.

Mother's eyes catch his. _Do not_. He is terrible at denying him.

_Please, Mother dearest, I still don't the extent of his injuries. What is the harm of one hug_? he whines, pulling at Mother's love for him. (an itch under his skin, burn of his magic, claim him again. he is right there, within a few strides.)

She gives in, of course she does, as Carter looks down with the beginnings of a frown. He tries to hide his eagerness, how much he's actually missed him. He is as weak as his heart. Horus sits down, playing more with the slowly repairing sword. (mother presses reassuringly in his mind.) He definitely needs to bring Carter his clothes and such.

There is more of the unspoken communication between the children, careful regardless of a year apart. He does not like the looks they share. "Let's go, Isis." Sadie kisses her brother's forehead, pseudo royal children sharing smiles. "Horus. See you after dinner."

He frowns. "When was this decided and why wasn't I told?" Alone. Alone with Carter. Alone with _coherent _Carter. "W-Why don't you spend more time with your brother?" Stupid voice cracks.

"Well, someone has to tell Mom her baby's back. After the last time I figured you would prefer not to." Right, Ruby crying and sobbing and shutting down for how long? Only about two months ago did she recover, the woman who had lost her children once when she died and again when her son disappeared.

She kisses his forehead, smiling. Her voice drops low; "You're so in love it's almost stupid." She straightens up, winking at him.

"You are a brat, through and through." Horus is tensing, shoulders tight. He can't be mad, no. She's doing what she thinks best.

The sword hilt is fixed. It's heavy. The prince fiddles with his hands in his lap, watching the two leave. He looks fine, no visible scars or harm on his body. Unkempt, but still everything reminds him to claim the prince, physically check that he is well.

Horus clears his mind of those thoughts. Not healthy. Carter doesn't need the added stress of a hyper possessive boyfriend.

Carter waits until the women are gone, saying a quiet, "You can go, if you want. You know how Sadie is."

"Why would I do that?" It tumbles out before he knows what exactly he's saying. Automatic response? He was so closely attuned to the prince, between all of his perfection and faults, that it is simply second nature to brush off Carter's moments of doubt.

He shrugs. "I-I don't know. I've been gone for so-so long I didn't know if you were still interested." And Horus, the socially inept idiot he is, starts laughing. Head between his knees, shaking with laughter and mirth. Carter, sweet prince, is confused. "Why are you-?"

Horus takes a deep breath. "I was so worried about I would react after finally seeing you again and you think I don't even love you anymore?" He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Fuck, fuck you're so-." He ignores the fact he's crying, throat thick with emotion. Too much, all of it. He is weak and cannot handle the prince.

Carter's hand on his back. "...are you alright?"

"I apologize for being so damn selfish. You were kidnapped for over a year and all I can do is laugh, oh fucking—" Carter's laugh (cracks in the middle, settles in the god's vacant heart) catches his breath. He goes to look at his smile, remembers his tears and wet kohl staining his hands, and turns back. He deserves something, someone better.

Horus collects himself. Carter asks a quiet, "You really still love me? Even after I fucked up?" He swallows his beating heart. Mother will never know. He sits up despite the protest in his back.

"Can I–Can you come here?" Carter, sweet prince, does, settling himself on his lap, head against his shoulder. "Please don't tell anyone," he mutters, wrapping his arms about him. Cheek against the top of his head, the sweet prince rubbing his back. Never before, a thousand times.

"Okay." He sighs. "Are you not allowed to be close to your own boyfriend?"

Why is his heart so active today? It's stupid. He bites his cheek. "Well, they ah, you know me and it's less about you and more about how fiercely protective I am about you. They're afraid if I catch wind of how...poor you are I'll fly back into my rage," he says quietly. Carter hums curiously, and of course Horus explains. He's tiring. Crying is exhausting.

* * *

Why is he in bed. Carter shaking his shoulder, Carter saying, "Birdie, Birdie, wake up. I think you're late." On his back, armor twisted awkwardly around his top. He stares at his hand for a second, listening to Carter's sheepish, "Turns out I'm not as strong as I use to be...yeah."

Horus rolls his eyes. It's over halfway through dinner. He may as well wait the rest out here with his prince. "What did you do?" he asks, catching Carter's brown eyes, whose mirth disappears and darts down to the bed spread. He sits up, fixing himself.

His grin is loose. "Heh, tried laying you down. Turns out I can't," he laughs.

He smiles back at him. "Oh? How are you?" He stands, cracking his back. A haze covers his mind, one he shakes from post-nap confusion. The palace is too warm.

Carter shrugs. "Alright? I don't remember anything and I feel so gross. What are the chances of me getting a bath?" He wraps the thin blanket from the bed around himself. He desperately needs to bring Carter his things.

"You had one dear, but I'll talk to the women." How uncomfortably bright and clean the palace is, how awkward Carter is (was) here. Take him home, his mind offers. He's safe there, comfortable there, Horus can exist there. There's no way the women will let him move, not when they don't know the extent of how damaged he is. "If you would like, I can see if you could be moved, yes, to my room?"

He pulls his knees up, a quiet groan, than straightens his legs back out. He smiles faintly, "I think I'd like that?" He glances at him, "Heru-ur?"

"Yes?"

"Is it alright if I go back to bed?"

Horus cocks his head. "You can do whatever you please, dear."

The prince huffs. "But is it alright if I do?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

"You won't be mad?"

"No." Horus pushes him down gently, muttering a spell to himself and pulling another blanket over him. He ignores, shoves away, the fact Carter flinches away from him. "I will never be mad at you, Prince. You just focus on getting better now, alright?"

The prince nods. Hikes the blankets up around his shoulders, still faint smile on his face. "Birdie?" He hums again. "Will you stay until I fall asleep again?" he quietly asks, keeping his gaze down.

Horus nods. His heart skips as Carter scoots a little closer. Can he kiss him? No, no. Carter isn't interested in that, no, it's just that Horus is a radiator. It's been a year since Carter has been in his warmth. That's all. His hands meet his eyes again. A warmth he never should have been taken from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this use to be the same length as chap 1, but then chap 1 got heavy editing and this one didn't, hence the disparity.

## CHAPTER TWO

Horus is two hours late to dinner. Sadie deals with Isis's growing agitation. Her arms crossed over her chest, awfully vocal, going on about "He is doing exactly what I told him not to." She is a bit much to handle, and Sadie nurses her glass of wine. Horus owes her hard for this.

"Let him go. We're lucky if he's not crying." She taps her fingernails on the table. Isis does the head cock this family loves.

"Why would my boy be crying?"

She sighs. "He's stupidly in love with my brother?" Her head meets her fist, leaning on the table. She is too. Mr. Wikipedia is home and she's about to leave, though. The round up; he's settling in and she's geared up to leave. She glances into her cup of wine, swallowing another gulp.

Isis smiles. "I never expected Horus to consort with mortals. It happens, of course, but he always so content alone or with Hathor. Even I've dabbled with mortals a few times – a priestess here or there – but never Horus. Against the rules, and all that."

Her eyes catch the man himself sheepishly entering the room. His face is lightly flushed and eyes red. "A bit rude to talk to about your king behind his back, is it not?" he quips. Horus gives Isis the customary kiss on the cheek, sitting down beside Sadie. He flashes her a bashful smile, promising later. Never too much in front of Isis.

“It's for your own good, sweetheart." She pushes a plate of food his way. He's not going to eat, but Isis still tries, has tried.

"I'm sure it is." Horus takes a piece of bread, picks it over with his oddly manicured nails. "What did you want to talk about?" he asks. Even for spending his time sobbing, he looks better. There's a brightness in his eyes she hasn't seen.

Sadie shrugs. "What we did earlier: me." She shrugs. "We find out who fucked my brother over. I'm more than content to go to Antarctica." Mother and son share looks. She hears the encroaching no. She's the only one who can. Yet they won't let her. It isn't like she's important; it is not she who sits on the throne.

"Language," is what the goddess begins with. Composing herself, Isis says slowly, "Perhaps, we should verify before sending you away. How valid could Carter's word be at the moment?" Horus shifts in his seat. Taps his plate.

"Don't disturb him, Mother. Least not for a while. He is sleeping." He hides his yawns behind his hand. "But she is right, Little Kane. Do exercise some caution."

She arcs a brow. "So I go alone, god-free. Even if it's not them, they should be checked up on." She has not done much this past year save for search for Carter. She would like to keep the momentum, the burning glint of her magic itching to not be subdued.

(_Alone in the Duat, Isis's amulet hanging from her neck and into her shirt. The arc of her wand into the palm of her hand as she ventures a bit deeper into the throes of the Duat. Isis sits uncomfortably in her mind, head heavy with her added occupant of an angry bird god. He can't speak on this particular anger management, hacking through demons to find their Carter, no: it is his anger management after all_.)

Horus sighs. "No. You are, like it or not, too valuable to throw away like that."

"And, like it or not, I'm going. You can't stop me, bird brains." Sadie rolls her shoulders. They'll never harm her. She's valuable. With Carter back, Horus will be busy with him, and Isis has the task of healing him. Sadie could easily leave in the night, stow herself on a ship or attempt to teleport there. Anubis is still upset, and the other gods now have the return of their king to worry about.  
The sun revolves around Carter.

She elbows him. "Come on, what possible shit could happen? I can fight my way out of anything." Last birthday, her plans of not celebrating, the god tapping her bedroom door awkwardly. 'Happy birthday,' he muttered harshly, throat raw and offering her a wooden box (wrapped in a bow with Isis's flair). Mother and son gave her a dagger, iron and fitting along the lines in her palm. She hasn't used it, but keeps it on her.

"Language," Isis warns again. Her shoulders square. The mother of the people who's going to try and stop her. Not that it'll work. "Sadie, reconsider. Please." Sadie isn't lucky like Carter. She doesn't have clear images of their mother from when they were children. Only her corporeal mother she's come to know, and Isis that fills the hole quite nicely.

She smiles. "Isis, relax. I'll admit it's not ideal, but hey, someone has to do it." She stands up. "Just think of it as a vacation. You've been telling me to go on one for how long?"

"I've no recollection of this." Horus pokes at the dinner. "You may speak to Carter. Not tonight, he's asleep–" his blush spreads, "but the second he's uncomfortable it is over." Stupidly possessive.

* * *

"Why don't you go home? When was the last time you saw the mutt?" Horus is watching her tread around the apartment. He's at his normal spot, doing his normal habit of sitting on anything that isn't the couch. His head almost grazes the ceiling when he sits on the counter.

"There's things to do here." Her fight with Anubis pressing at the back of her mind. "You love having me around, don't deny it."

He rolls his eyes. "What did you do?"

She shrugs. "You've said it yourself, he's a pain in the ass," she says. "I love him still but not as much as I use to. I'm sure you know the feeling."

Anubis's dark hair swept everywhere, dark eyes ablaze with something more godly, less human, than she likes. Walt in the middle, trying his damnedest to be the mediator.

"Is that sarcasm?" He glances about, gold and silver racking over the apartment. His frown fits well on his face these days. "Do try to make things up, be applicable, I do not want to deal with his whining for centuries to come," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "Sure, birdbrain, I'll try. But you owe me an explanation. And hot chocolate," she decides, for leaving her with Isis earlier, elbow meeting his side. She hasn't seen him out of his armor the past year.

"I was not aware of the second part," he muses. The average kiss to her temple. He makes it anyway.

Sadie takes her boots off, leaving them by the door. Away from the view of the god, she texts Walt;

**Sadie (9:34):** hey  
i won't be home 2nite :(  
how's annie?

**Walt (9:36):** He's still upset. I think. He went mute.

**Walt (9:36):** When are you coming home?

**Sadie (9:38)**: soon  
things are fine now  
tell him i'm sorry

**Walt (9:40)**: Again? Alright.

She sits on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. Can she tell him? Carter and Walt where best friends before everything. What is the harm in telling him? Not like the bird knows how to use her phone anyway.

**Sadie (9:41): **hey walt?

Horus sets her hot chocolate, in Carter's college mug – deep blue inset with gold script – down on the table.

**Sadie (9:42)**: carter's back.  
he's home finally

She quickly turns off her phone, tossing it on the table with no care.

* * *

The god isn't a good study mate, at all. He's too busy staring at Carter. Not touching him, no, just watching him sleep (_carter hasn't caught on to the god's distress and finds it a good idea to sleep on him—_

_ —and horus the idiot doesn't stop him._)

"I use to hate you," Sadie says as her earbud falls out for the last time, the same Adele song she still hasn't deleted playing in the other.

"Most people did," he replies.

"Isn't that nice," she says, rolling her eyes. "But I'm serious. Why the hell did you get to be with Carter but I couldn't be with Anubis?" His jaw clenches, eyes trained on Carter still. Carter, as if knowing what was going on, is stretching out and nuzzling into his thigh. "But you're so pathetic without him."

"Watch it," he says, a tinge of edge to his voice.

She's meant to be studying for microbiology exams while they wait for Isis to show up to question Carter. And maybe they both wanted to see him. She thought about him in class, a slow four days since she first saw him. And like she had predicted, the god lost all interest in her, and she this is the first she's seen him since that day.

She doesn't mind. This was how it was going to be, and she knew it. It's not like she enjoyed her time with him at all. Being around someone closer to her age that she's not romantically interested in or young enough to be her child was nice. He's a fun guy past the initial issues.

But she knows her position as the replacement Kane. (the dagger in her bed, the wand beside her head.)

Balancing her textbook on her knee, she forces her phone and headphones into her jeans pockets. Why are girls pants so infuriating? "You were an upset dog and now a lovesick puppy. You're as useful now as you where then. Not at all."

"Shut up, brat." He uses his pharaoh tone, trying to mark it final. "I'm–I'm going to get Mother. She's never this late." Horus, with a shaky hand, gingerly combs his fingers through her brother's hair. His not quite all there smile, before carefully getting up.

She watches him retreat, the door shutting a bit loudly. Wuss.

She settles back into studying, but doesn't get too deep. Carter sits up slowly, fixing his hair. "Could it kill you to be a bit nicer?" he asks, voice slightly rough. He reaches for the honeyed tea on the table, washing it down and says next, much smoother, "The birdbrain deserves some respect."

Sadie tries to hide how nice it is to see him. "You've been up this whole time?" she deadpans. Sneaky.

He nods. "Yep. He's sort of loud," he says, tapping his temple. He has to balance his cup in his lap, not strong enough to hold it up longer. She focuses away from that. Weak, he's so weak.

"You rebonded that quick?" she snorts. He smiles bashfully. "Course."

"He wasn't going to stop me. And...with the way I am now it's very easy. But really, be nicer. He's a mess." The god sunk his teeth into Carter rather quick. Is that why he clung? Reclaim Carter as his 'host' to stake his claim. Great.

"I know how messy he is." She dealt with him for eight months. Would Isis react similarly if she was gone? She would, Sadie knows this. But to see it in play is different. Isis is the mother of the people, and mother of her.

_ I love you,_ as Sadie's soul sunk back into her body. Goddess and mother overlapping and phasing into one another. Her earliest memories of Mother replaced by Isis, and her new memories of Mom sustain her. Having two moms isn't bad, she mulls, Isis is good for everyday annoyances while Mom is for the deep, personal things.

_ You're not half bad_, mentioned in passing by Horus in the tired aftermath of his rage, sword in hand and insults dead on his breath. In the quiet of Carter's apartment as she cleans, the weight of being here as Carter's not is suffocating. The god wipes his hands off, extending one towards her. _I miss him terribly much, and perhaps, littlest of Kanes, we could pair up._

(_Sadie, dripping wet and shaking, trips into Osiris's palace, portal collapsing in on itself. Shabiti lights scatter nervously, murmuring quickly in Egyptian to themselves. "Get her," she hisses, balanced on her staff. A trio of them flurry away, idiot spirits rotating round and round, and grabbing her mom._

_ "Oh, gods," Mom and her jeans falling beside her. "What happened?" A cold snake, slithering across her pants and up her legs. Bright lights, confused sibling shouts, Carter's forceful hand shoving her through a haphazard portal. Alone, the Ma'at surrounding her in the Duat shuddering._)

Carter snaps her out of her thoughts. "So be nice. But, uh, thank you for watching him." It should have been her. She wouldn't have left behind an emotionally incompetent boyfriend. She would have been gone longer but it would have been fine. Her brother could have been happy.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you stupid birds." She smiles at him. "How do you feel?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Like shit. All I do is sleep anymore. Horus isn't allowed to see me without a chaperone, and one of the women are always with me. The bird has snuck me out a few times. Not that we get far. The poor thing is starved for attention," he says quietly. It's humorous how he speaks about the king of the gods as Bast speaks about sick kittens who come to Brooklyn seeking her out.

"Gross, don't tell me you've–" she raises a brow suggestively.

"Ew, no. That's the last thing on my mind, and he won't look at me for longer than a few seconds." He looks at her, raising his own brow. "Don't tell me you've been–"

That involves seeing her loves in the flesh. She tries to not let her shoulders sag too much. "All day," she swallows, "every day." His hazel eyes soften. She doesn't need his, the one that was kidnapped, sympathy. I don't need his comfort, she says to herself, Carter coming to sit beside her. "You like making people cry, don't you?"

His frail arm wraps around her shoulders. "What happened with you three?" he asks. "You're my little sister, Sads, I hate seeing you cry."

And she snares her arms around his middle. "When you were first gone, everything was a mess. I neglected a lot of things, including Walt and Anubis. Walt got over it, but Annie was upset with how much time I spent looking for you." Carter draws her into his chest. "And then with how much time I spent with birdbrain looking for you."

Sadie refuses to cry. She has had it easy. She will not cry unless Carter does. Has he cried? At all? Her heart must be stronger than that. But she isn't. Tears prick the corners of her eyes. "But enough about me, how are you man?"

"You already asked me that," he says, kissing the top of her head. They exist in silence. She prefers it. Her voice isn't to be trusted now. He knows her too well, from strangers to siblings, mutual slayers of a demon snake and a drawer of Swiss Army attachments, stuck together at a spiritual level. Understanding her old mates love for their siblings is easy now, and how she ever thought of Carter as a stranger feels so alien.

If they weren't magical siblings they wouldn't be like this. She would see him twice a year. They would get older and exchange pleasant formalities and not the biting rhetoric of youth.

Carter pats her shoulder. "The bird's coming back. I have to lay down. Come see me sometime. I'm always here now." She helps him back over to the couch. He lays back down on his side. Even that little bit of activity seemed to have genuinely exhausted him. "How's school?" His eyes close, first screwed shut then relaxing.

He acts well enough, Horus taking his spot back as his pillow, fingers idly going through Carter's hair. His stupid smile, Isis's beaming one directed towards her. (and watching him startle at carter leaning into his hand is well worth it.)

Isis is nothing but kind smiles. "Did you really need to bring your books?" _I think you are right._

_ Of course I am_. "Hey, got exams to get done." The stupid bird and stupid brother quietly chatting to one another, Horus's hands respectfully back away from him. They're quiet and in love and perfect. When was the last time she was like that with her boyfriends? A while. Her hand in Walt's and arm laced in Anubis's. The movies, Anubis's head cocked in confusion during a zombie film, dully stating, 'That's not how that works'.

_ I genuinely mean it. All he does it think and worry about Carter now. Horus never frets over hosts. _The mother of the people who didn't weep for her brother but rather for the king's rage. "Do you two mind?"

Carter sits up, knee pressed to Horus', saying, "Yes, sorry, Isis." His arm laces through the god's, temple on his shoulder. "You're going to ask again about the past year, right?" Again. These gods can't wait to sink their teeth into Carter, sick and freshly confused.

He explains, and Sadie wonders if he knew all the details of why they were interested, if he would fabricate some lie to not lose her, not let her go. Would he make far fetched lies or exaggerate the truth to keep her home? They are close, brother and sister, slayers of demons and mutual hostages of one another's bullshit.

Cold. Ice. Wet. He claims to have been treated well, no memories of poor treatment (she didn’t see him after finding him, but Horus’ general demeanor that first day said a lot about his state). No memories to begin with, but for the most part he has always been sound of mind. She can trust him, has always been able to. His word is true.

And convincing enough to still go. If Carter, their kidnapped pharaoh, came back kind of fine, then her masquerading as one of the them should be mostly fine. Someone has to do the groundwork around here.

* * *

Sadie goes back to Carter's apartment one last time, grocery bags on one arm. None of the gods are pestering her anymore. Acceptance? Perhaps. That doesn't stop Isis from sobbing, body wracked and shaking and barely containing herself when they meet.

She hasn't even left.

Dropping the groceries on the counter, she shifts through bags for frozen foods. This apartment has become a host of methodical motions. A ship rocks in the sea, realization happens in the kitchen. Two years ago she slept on the couch under thin blanket after Anubis grated her nerves, resident god mumbling a list of grievances to her temporary boarding, all along the lines of it being their anniversary and all Horus wanted in life was for Carter to be his for a day.

She has put them both through her shit. Her mind, brilliant and resourceful, keeps tracking back that it should have been her. (ideally: no one. the south dies, they all are safe together in their nomes, in the apartments.) She would have been fine, healed and allowed back home. Her boys wouldn't be breathing down her neck.

She was the one meant to be taken. But Carter had to grow to be strong, shoving her easily through the portal. She should have been stronger, strong enough to resist being tossed easily.

Loud crashing from the bedroom snaps her out of her thoughts. Her wand is in her hand, carefully approaching the room, poised to strike, until she hears the voice. "Ouch." A loud whine that comes through the apartment. Horus, their pompous king, half on/half off the bed, legs stuck in the air, weight on his shoulder. A portal gone wrong.

"A moment, little Kane." She leans on the doorway, unamused. Horus rolls over himself, legs over head, in a crouch on the carpet. He rotates his shoulder with a wince, and she sees his magic quickly going to fix whatever he could have done. He's ridiculous, undeserving of his title as god.

"I don't want to hear your shit," she prefaces the night with. Her boomerang wand ends up back in her locker.

He sighs, standing. "Yes, yes, I know. But you're going to. Both your mother and Ma'at cannot handle losing another Kane."

Sadie tunes him out. She goes back to unpacking groceries all the while he keeps talking. She has no desire to deal with him right now. Her plans to leave tomorrow are still in affect. Her hands tighten around the groceries as his voice drones on.

Horus doesn't catch on.

Her agitation crawls up her spine. Too important.

Yanking Horus down by the armor, she throws caution and groceries out and shuts the man up in the best way to shut men up. Pressing her lips to the god's, he makes a very non divine, unmanly noise, between startled animal and child. "You're a good man, Horus," this stupid soft voice for little kids. "I'm going to go. Take care of everything."

His brilliant eyes blink once, twice. "Why did you–" he distances himself, full height, four inches over her. "Why would you–" He cannot articulate himself, lapsing in Egyptian that only a few phrases make sense. He hates cussing in English, she assumes, and Isis is _so_ peculiar about what she's allowed to know.

She shrugs. "I felt like it." He wipes his lips off with the back of his hand. "Don't tell Mom I'm leaving." Neither look at one another. She collects the items on the floor in the stillness. She settles them on the counter and in the freezer, the fridge; he's horrible when he's quiet, a looming boy who pretends to not be as awkward as every other teenager.

"...I won't. Six months. Mother says you have six months until she drags you out." Six months isn't a lot of time, she muses. "She wants you to have this. Emergency talisman." The way he enunciates _she_, as if he almost starts to say _we_, gives it away.

_ Thank you, Isis_. "Want a souvenir?" His smile is tired.

"No, thank you." She'll punch one of the magicians for him. It is a mortal's responsibility to fulfill things a god cannot do them self, but for now, her knuckles meet his bare shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to joji on repeat if that's any indication of my current mood
> 
> i start college next week! isn't that fun? i also want to write a multi-chapter modern au featuring hathor/carter/horus, because its about time. maybe i'll drop out to focus on my dreams of poly smut
> 
> until next time


	3. Chapter 3

## CHAPTER THREE

Horus allows Hathor to drag him to bed. She's rational, Ihy on her hip and he in her hand. "Why, my lord pharaoh, you're no good to any of us if you're exhausted. Certainly not your prince." He hasn't slept since that tearful night, not that it feels different than the previous year. His wife, wonderful wife of thousand upon thousands of years of his bullshit, leads him through the antechamber to her main room. Her little handmaidens curl on their low couches, vicious war goddesses in the service of their king but assigned to Hathor and her sweet child. They are meant to being guarding the king's chambers, where Carter rests, but till his paranoia dies down, they are here, guarding queen and child.

When he comes in the day they all titter in excitement, the king finally showing the queen some affections. To keep them quiet, bows always strung, he sends her gifts, copious amounts. Clothes, jewelry, small things he sees that make him think of her.

Hathor squeezes his hand. "Take him." Ihy's head on his mother's shoulder, content and stirring at her voice, quiet, _Momma_?

"I don't think I should...he looks fine–"

"Take."

He reluctantly accepts Ihy, who grabs his earlobe with wet hand, his arm supporting the tyke. If he was spoiled as a child, and for some parts he was, Ihy is exceptionally so. Held close to Hathor's breast during most of the day and night, Ihy is a sweet child attached to her chest with no hardships.

"Why is his hand wet?" he asks. Babe glares up him, amber irises soft like caramel chews. He glares back.

She laughs awkwardly. "He sucks his thumb."

«You make Mama sad,» the babe claims. «Say sorry, stupid man.» He is wrapped in modern clothes, whatever they shove toddlers in. (everyone wears pants today.) Hathor will always be more modern.

He pulls the child's hand off his ear. «Watch your tone, brat,» he warns. At some point, at this current point, he does love Ihy. Small son, born of Hathor and claimed as his for thousands of years, solidifying his connection to the cycle of rebirth. Small, happy child, meant to cheer up those who pass and don't quite catch onto death. (would ihy have met carter under those circumstances? carter, given an improper burial, his prince, their king, lost forever in the throes of confusion? is mortal death quick and clammy? his deaths have always been prolonged things, graduated, until one day the heart stops and he's thrown back into the contendings.)

Hathor chastises him, lightly swatting his nose, and the boy shoves his head down against his shoulder. He mocks cry. «So now you like me?» he asks, cradling his head. Ihy falls back asleep just as quickly as he woke up. "What is he on about?"

She flutters around the room, making accommodations for him. If this was earlier in their marriage, with nothing but love and sorrow, he would have been terribly upset. But it isn't. Their marriage, like his kingdom, died.

"Despite having his other fathers he's so attached to you. I don't get it." She gestures at the bed for him to put the baby down. The queen slips out of jeans and into silken shorts, golden legs from the dawn of the world that stretch into the night.

He carefully sets the babe down. "He remembers the adulterous asshole but not the grand king who gave him his title? Poor brat." The protector of the royal family, quite bad at it, both mortal and divine ones falling apart. Sadie Kane, pseudo-princess crying and comforted by both mothers, Carter Kane, lost pharaoh afraid of his shadow, and now Ihy, technical prince fatherless.

"Shut up." Hathor's fists clenched at her sides, fury alight in her eyes. Two sides of the same coin, the perfect idea of femininity coupled with the imperfect ruthless warrior; it makes him yearn for days before Kane, when this beautiful concept of a woman was his. "I have known you in all forms, all your traumas, and you're not a terrible person. Not as bad as you think."

Horus smiles. "That's a bit subjective, isn't it?"

* * *

  
«My lord,» and he wasn't asleep anyway, carefully sitting up to not disturb (ex) wife and child, «you have a visitor.» Ihy's thumb is still in his mouth. He tenderly wraps his forefinger around the boy's wrist, popping his finger out of his mouth and tucking his fist close to his heart.

«At this hour?» He isn't expected to entertain now. If it was something dangerous, the girls would have automatically taken care of it.

«Yes, he claims to be important.» There are a lot of people who claim to be important. If he gave time to everyone there wouldn't be enough time in his years. «Should we send him away?»

He glances at the sleeping duo again. His life is slow and boring outside of the prince. «...no. I will be out.» She bows and leaves. The girls are old, even more unaware of the outside world, English foreign. They were never imprisoned, alone in the palace waiting for lord and lady. He could feel bad, but that much empathy after thousands of years would be the death of him.

"I'll be back," he mentions quietly for Hathor to hear, and Ihy, cuddling closer up to his mother, shoves his thumb back in his mouth. «You're too old for that,» he says, Ihy glaring back at him. You make Mama sad. Perhaps the small child loved by the dead has a point in his mind. More gifts, more time with Hathor, to keep his mouth shut, to keep rumors quiet and out of the hands of people who still haven't caught onto the truth.

Horus grabs the khopesh, rubbing the sleep of his eye before he reaches the door. No sleep for that year, and only his uncomfortably hot nap with Carter. He's fine, though. Sleep is something that is nice, not required.

The bustle of the girls around the guest. Around the prince. The taller ones sniff him, a swarm in frenzy around the confused Kane. He, in his linens he hasn't changed out of despite having pajamas, tries to avoid them, but they outnumber him; the smaller girls, who come up to his chest, all itch for their bows, confusion etched on warm faces.

Carter catches him, catches his exhausted smile. "Hi, birdie," he says, "hope I didn't wake you up." Shoulders hiked up, fists clenched.

Horus shakes his head. "No, no, I wasn't asleep anyway." His attention turned to little war goddesses who left their mother's skirts, «Girls. Down.»

Eyes snap on him. The usually obedient handmaidens hesitate. «My lord,» one of them broaches, «why does he smell like you?» The prince slips out between the cracks, hurried unstable steps to hide behind him, one fist digging into his skirt.

He glances over his shoulder. «He is my host, if you hadn't caught on.» The prince is busy composing himself, shaking shoulders relaxing. He commends him for not losing it in front of the girls, girls who would have devoured him at the simplest signs of weakness. «Back to your posts.»

They murmur to one another, low enough he can't register it, as they curl back on their couches with one another, bows and daggers tucked away. Turning, to not expose Carter back to the girls, he gives a careful shove to the door. "We'll talk inside, okay?" he asks quietly, and Carter nods, leaning away from the hand on the small of his back.

Kissing him. Nuzzling him. It all rings in his mind. He could do it. Bend over a bit, mouth along his hair line. The year has been lonely. Here is Carter, object of his affections, crawling to him in the night. His tongue scrapes over teeth, biting down into the muscle. That is, most certainly, not why he came here.  
"...dear, if I may," break the silence? "ask, how did you slip past your little chaperone?"

He laughs. "I asked her to look the other way." Aunt Neph would, close her eyes softly and pretend her charge isn't wandering away. It's what she thinks is best. Letting him go unsupervised into a palace crawling with creeps when he's practically defenseless? Into the waiting arms of his patron god? It's what's best. "Birdie?"

Horus hums. "Yes?"

  
Carter twists. "Can I sleep with–can you sleep with me? Share a bed. I had a bad dream," he admits very quietly. He briefly looks at Horus, hazel eyes worth all the gold in the world. But it's gone, to a corner, a pillar, anywhere but him.

A daydream come true, Carter Kane crawling back to him because he needs the god. "Of course you can," mother and child spreading over the bed, Ihy tucked to Hathor's breast as she twists on the unoccupied space, "but let's go back to yours, huh?"

"I don't want to go back out there."

He grins. "You don't have to. You trust me, don't you?" He instinctively offers his hand, Carter staring at it as if he doesn't know how to react.

He nods stiffly. "Yeah." They use to hold hands all the time, a multitude of ways. Laced fingers, the awkward hand hug, just pinkies. Tonight he opts for laced fingers, the underside of Carter's left wrist littered with indentations of half-moons. Their hands fit together perfectly.

Horus leads him into the queen's baths. The air is humid and warm. Around the bathtub, filled with water and oils. He taps his foot against the wall, magic burning against the hieroglyphics. "Requires a little bit of power, but being my host and everything it shouldn't give you issues." He smiles at him. "If it doesn't work kicking it works pretty good. But you're smart, so I'm sure you could find an alternative."

Complimenting him breaks this natural smile on his face. He starts talking. A lot. Anything and everything. Books he's reading, gossip the women tell him, fear that his memories aren't quite real. They've been tampered with before by the House, what's stopping less than savory forces from doing it too? Maybe he doesn't remember because they don't want him to.

And all this talk, while it's great to hear him at such lengths, makes him hurt. The past year won't matter once he's secure at home. Nothing will matter once his Kanes are home and safe.

The duo pop out into the deserted servant's quarters off of the king's rooms. Carter is still talking. Horus squeezes his hand. "Dear, hush." Wonderful hazel eyes startle and look up at him. "You can keep talking later," he says, "but we wouldn't want to startle poor Neph."

Carter looks away. Horus doesn't care for it. "Thank you," he says, "for coming back with me."

He smiles. "Of course. Anything." The blush climbs up his face as the god leads them into the room is enough.

"Hello, dear aunt," let's himself tease the youngest out of them all, with her eyes closed and hands folded in her lap, "look who I found." He's spurred on by Carter's laughs, by Carter's hand pulling him further into the room. "I will not tell Mother if you don't." His youth surges through the gold flecked in his veins.  
Neph smiles. "Hello, dear nephew. With my eyes close I cannot tell who you found."

The prince lets go of his hand. He bows his head slightly to Neph. "I apologize, Nephthys. I wanted to see Horus, I shouldn't have slipped out." Horus doesn't like the lack of contact, hooking their pinkies together. He's grown attached to what little contact they had. Carter and the fact he was gone for a year and now he's back and willing to climb into bed with him, Horus's bed, wants to curl back into where he belongs.

"It is alright." Carter pulls back the sheets, the comforter they bought when they first moved into the apartment, green and white and heavy and the only reason he stopped complaining as much during the winter.

"Neph, dearest aunt, go to bed. I'll wake you up before Mother comes," he says, leaning across to kiss her forehead. Her smile grows, genuine, as she tucks her feet into the chair, turning her head into the backing. Basic magic and she covers herself with a blanket, content to sleep in an uncomfortable chair all because her king asked.

Carter rolls his eyes. The lights dim in the room. The prince climbs back in bed, patting the space beside him. You're so slow, he mouths. His heart skips a beat. A fear they aren't bonded again, but he remembers hearing his soft snoring throughout the day, hearing him roll his eyes.

Trepidation strikes his now beating heart. What could go wrong? If he manages to hurt Carter cuddling maybe he does deserve to die. He slides in beside him, and Carter disappears beneath the comforter. "Where are you–" but it's fun, sliding down to meet him.

The prince slides up, pressing their knees together. "I forgot," he says, "that your eyes have that little glow." The dome of their blanket, of multiple anniversaries, of Horus and his general hate of the weather, of Carter coming home a bit too late for comfort.

He hums. The sun and the moon never sleep. "May I?" he asks, arm hanging in the air. Carter scoots in, sighing contently as he drapes his arm over him, legs naturally slotting against one another. He knows this, at least. Cannot mess this up. "I imagine you want me to make sure your ba stays put?" he accuses.

"I want you because I love you," he admits, "but watching my ba would be nice too."

Horus's nights are spent like that, his prince curling back where he belongs. Each night they drift closer together, till Carter's head tucks into his shoulder, and he gets a little crazy over the smell of his hair. It is his shampoo, the same since he was fourteen. (day eight, carter rolls out of his embrace, settling on his back, smiling over at him. 'do you just want to smell me all night?'

sarcasm? 'you need to rest.'

a roll of his eyes. 'all i do is rest. one night won't ruin me.')

Over a week of Carter making the trip to Hathor's rooms for him to simply think about normally sharing a bed again. They are a couple, and Horus is stupidly in love with him. They can simply skip the middle ground, start with Horus in bed with him, as it's always the end game.

So he waits during the day, through listening of minor gods complain and his father's messengers. He sees the griffins, instructing them on falcon messengers to train to watch the farthest south Nome. Carter will pass by here soon enough, a woman beside him, in his laps around the palace to talk and rebuild muscle.

His presence at the edge of his mind. It is nice to have him there again. Horus does get time with Carter, with the kid reading and resting against him, at dinner, at night, when he sneaks away and grabs the god's hand. Right now, Horus stepping out to catch them. The prince's large smile.

Horus grabs for his hand, catching him by the wrist, "Carter."

Panic flicks over Carter's face when Horus intercepts him, an apology starts on his tongue but the prince calms so he keeps it to himself. He keeps up his plan, sliding Carter's hands into his, dragging them up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. "Love?" he asks. Neph looks at him from where she waits.

"Yeah?" he replies, voice caught. Public affection is not his strong suit. All their affections are public, now, with Neph's watching eye.

Lips to his palms. "As enticing it is to have you visit me every night, my dear host, perhaps we may formally share a bed once more?"

Carter laughs. "Look at you, being sweet. I'd like that."

* * *

  
"Horus, Horus, it's raining," Carter shakes his shoulder, wiggling out of his grasp. Sleeping with Carter is very very nice. How he did anything but is a mystery to him. He is light, and Horus's hands span his hips fully, dragging him back into his bare chest. Carter meekly fights back (or rather: it is all of his strength, but carter could only contest with him at his peak. now, sick and not energized, he doesn't have a chance).

"It," a yawn, rain in the Duat has never happened in this part, "doesn't rain here. You know that." The leftovers of a nightmare, probably. He shakes less, tucked into Horus's chest, ear pressed to listen to his heart, and unknowingly healing cracks in his old heart. He has yet to hear what the dreams are about, not that he'll press.

And the prince huffs, sliding off the bed. "I know that. But it is or else I'd let you sleep." He opens his eyes slowly, to gaze upon Carter in his pajamas. It's dark, and while he can see, a bit more light would be appreciated. Arms crossed over his chest, soft pajamas and eyes right out of reach. "Up. Get up," his beautiful little prince demands.

So he does. Carter grips his hand tightly, leading him to the balcony. They've progressed. The kid has started to return, has stopped asking and started doing again. Carter has warmed up to affections again, only tense for a few seconds. Horus grabs his sword in passing, can never be too safe with Carter. Even if he's a bit of a mess still. Being accustomed to love again does not mean he stops flinching when something falls or makes eye contact with anyone else. He's yet to leave the palace since he got back. Perhaps time on the mortal plane would balance him out.

It takes Horus several minutes to notice that they are outside. Rain falls heavily in sheets and runs down his chest. The dark sky is splattered with darker clouds.

This is concerning, lightning arching across their sky. The rain from the day the littlest Kane left, if it could be called that, has spread here. Carter glares up at him, pajamas soaked through and hair plastered to his head. Well. He owes him an apology. He offers a smile first, and the kid doesn't return it. "I'm sorry," he tries, "you where right. Come on, let's get you inside. You're going to get a fever."

Thunder crashes. Carter nods stiffly. He doesn't budge though. Horus gently slides his hand over his back, pulling him against his slick chest. "You're fine, dear prince," he says to his ear. His tense and broken, 'I know,' makes his heart clench. His hand falling to the small of his back, carefully shoving him to the door.

More quiet, as they face away from one another, Horus to the outside and Carter to the door, changing. They are both soaked, but he's fine, more disconcerted by the presence of rain than actual wet skirts.

He also has the ability to just auto dry himself, which is always nice.

He gives up trying to discern Carter's secret in the small reflection of the balcony door. One day. But there are more pressing matters. "So, once you go back to bed I'm going to see Mother. This rain is–"

"Who said I was going to bed?" Carter's quick snap. He steps in front of him, only have changed his pants and water continues to drip on the floor. Lightning, followed by thunder. What is the old wives tale? Count the time between the crashes for distance?

"No one, I just figured that after –" Carter rolls his eyes. "But you can come. Up to you, really." There is still a jagged cut where his sword repaired itself. Not all things can be fixed with magic.

"I'm going, silly bird." He bends over, kissing his forehead. Something related to desire calls up his spine. It's innocent, ignoring his groin completely, settling innocuously outside of his heart, waiting.

Horus shoves away the feeling. He does not need to grow (any) softer, with a weak host and weak mother and aunts. It has always been his job to be stronger than the rest. He simply smiles at him, a reverent, "Okay," said clear and precise. Where did his rage go, his promise to never leave his side, breathe down his neck all the time, always within reach?

His hand, a mind of it's own, reaches for Carter, but stops. The little prince grins, and Horus chuckles, saying, "Finish getting changed."

* * *

  
The halls are teeming with life. There are more gods crowded in hallways then he thought currently residing. Unless they crawled out of the cracks of the Duat, to the surface, to their fake sun killed by rain.

He thinks back to the mortal world. Has it stopped raining? The little Kane left three weeks ago, and it rained. He went for a week after to keep bringing Carter's belongings, and every day it rained. He hasn't been back, prince vocalizing the fact he is now content, so he has no reason to return.

The world cannot flood again. That's discussion, not Ma'at and Is'fet's will.

Carter, hand in hand with him, grips tighter. Crowds, he doesn't like crowds. He tacitly shows his apology, squeezing his hand back. He considers taking him through the gardens, but the storm has flooded the pooled marsh, water sloshing against a newly erected barrier. How stupid does he have to be? His mother's chambers could have been accessed by the tunnels.

"Mother?" Horus asks to an empty room. Servant lights buzz about, confused as to where to begin in the disorder. Scattered clothes, scrolls and books, broken staffs older than he remembers currently.

The prince unfurls a scroll with his foot. "Perhaps she went to see your father?" he offers.

He shakes his head. "Not likely. Once supper is over she stays in." Does Isis visit Osiris this century? An old woman, an old man, fine in their marriage through hosts.

Carter squeezes his hand. "Is this a romance novel? he asks, indicating to the scroll.

"...Mother has her tastes." He knocks his forehead off the top of his head. "Let's go. She's somewhere." To the servant lights, he gestures to the whole room. «Clean.» They start buzzing anxiously, shoving clothes into a pile. The shabiti will have to finish up.

The prince lets go of his hand. Horus keeps his complaint beneath his tongue.

He continues looking, checks a bit too often if Carter is okay (enough that Carter stops answering and starts rolling his eyes). They check Neph's quarters (empty), library (empty), the possibility of her being in the stream of gods heading for the outdoors. It's bad, he remembers each time Carter's slightly damp mess of hair brushes his shoulder.

* * *

  
"There's your aunt," Carter points out, swatting his side. "Should probably get her," and his eyes are drooping, tired and stubborn. Horus slips his arm around the prince.

He nods, leaning a little closer. "Perhaps you should go back to bed," he offers, "I'll be in after I get her."  
Carter glances up at him, brow cocked. "Or I wait here. You'd really send me alone back to our room? I'll be fine. Go." Still not full with affection, former host stands on his toes, nudging his cheek with his nose. A slight turn of his head and it could have been a proper kiss. (slight turn, slight desperation, becoming dependent on his touch again.)

"You're adorable," he says quietly, reverently, palming the hilt of the sword over to him. "I will be right back." Carter bumps his cheek again, smiling.

The last thing he sees before ducking out into the rain, hand over his head to protect from the rain, is Carter leaning against the wall.

Across the front lawn, to Neph and her head tilted to the sky. Coarse dark hair stuck to her forehead, her arms wrapped around herself as goose flesh takes its place on her. She has always been the odd one out, quiet and not fit for war; content to wait out the fights, only rising to heal and talk sense when her siblings get loud and unintelligent. She fears the end, he knows, the Snake rising yet again, their family viciously back at each other's throats. Stuck between them, loyal to none, soft hands on a scared nephew's cheeks, steady voice pleading to husband from the safety of her river, up to the waist in the silty waters.

Carefully he steps in front of her. "Dearest aunt, what are you doing?" he asks, expanding his dome of protection. She does not shake from the rain, accustomed to the water unlike the rest of them. It is where she belongs, cradled by the Nile like he by his mother.

Her eyes match her twin, but less confidence, startled like an animal. "Dearest brother." She sighs. "I have always been closer to death than the rest of you." Everyone is obsessed with death. Why can't any of them be happy with their life?

"Sister, be quiet. That is an order," he says without force. The youngest of them all, near and dear to them all. She is unfit for their squabbles, flinching when their voices raise. Softer than Isis, the sibling constantly stuck as a mediator, love for them all.

"But it is true, my lord pharaoh. Have you ever talked to the dead? They are so lonely, no matter what we do. Try as we might to make death the beginning, to give them paradise in their fear, Ma'at so often fails them," she laments. Her bare feet will not budge in the heavy, mushy sand.

"Quiet," he says again, force in his voice now, dear sister-aunt flinching. The balance of Ma'at shifts hard inside of him. A weight inside his soul. "Inside, silly woman. Let Ma'at rest; quit disturbing her." Neph is feather light, not grousing as he takes her back to the relative security of the palace.

She stares at the ceiling, ringing her hair out onto the marble floors. "You know better, Neph. Come, where is your husband?" Carter's confused head cock, mouthing something to him that slides over his head.

Stay, he says. She's just a little frenzied.

Neph shrugs. "I have not seen him in some time. Where is our sister? It is bed, despite all of this wet excitement, and I should go curl up with her. Do you remember the rain when you where a boy, and things were okay? Well, of course you don't, you only ever remember the bad..." She bruises like a peach, so only the gentlest of his knuckles to push at her shoulders. He will get hell if she is hurt.

"I believe our sister went to see our eldest brother," he lies. No clue where any of Isis is. "You know how they are." She smiles back at him; he faintly returns it. (dear host falls into step beside him.)

Horus leans down. "I do wish you would go to bed. Mother will have my head if she knows I had you out all night."

He just shrugs. "I'd rather stay with you."

* * *

  
Mother does have his head. Not that he particularly cares, pressing a faint kiss to the top of his host's head. "Up," she hisses quietly. Her fingers twist his ear, meant to hurt yet simply sting. She's here to scold him, but she is just as faulty.

"Where were you last night?" he asks.

"What did you do to Nephythys?" she asks back. Either early or late, Isis's general lack of adornments scattering her face. Plain eyes, bare cheeks, the simplest of night shifts. If he bothers to shift through her glamours, there's an abundance of love bites littered over her neck. He quits bothering. Gross. Isis and an active sex life are unassociated.

Dichromatic eyes meet the dark fury of ages past. "I did nothing. While you where off, it poured rain here." Her eyes widen. "It would have been nice to have our diviner around. Coupled with our youngest slightly loosing it last night."

Her fingers don't let go. "Something has shifted with in Ma'at," he carries on, "don't tell me you haven't felt it. A new hick up." He carts his hand through his host's hair. The Kanes have done much. "I am not saying it is our hosts fault," our as in our family, "but Ma'at certainly has changed. The rain is a sign, don't you think? If it rains here and the mortal world?"

Isis sits. The bite is gone from her voice, deft fingers rubbing his ear till the red leaves. "I was visiting your father. You feel it, too, I know, of how lonely this century is. I should have left some part of me here." Kissing his forehead, her apology settles into him. "Nephthys is so sensitive, it is only fit she is the first one to pick up on it."

"She...may have asked you not to, but do watch your little Kane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe this was the first time i wrote of ihy
> 
> how the times have changed
> 
> this is also one of my least favorite chapters because so much and so little happens all at the same time

**Author's Note:**

> back on my bullshit. here's a bunch of rambling.
> 
> so i was sloshed at a girlfriend's house and came to the realization that posting schedules aren't! for! me! so here we are. if you recognize this work, great, and if not, great! not much has changed in the first few chapters. i've written a bunch in the time this was down, but not in order. so i was like, hey, remember your first corus longfic that you also killed, between people like us? do something like that again. have horus do the past, sadie the present, symbolism and shit.
> 
> but i don't wanna. this'll be updated whenever i want bc thats how we do things in this house. so this is back, and its going to be Me, because this is My Story, and the three of you reading this are My Readers, and i appreciate the support.
> 
> also more excuses for me to write hathor and ihy.
> 
> feel free to yell at me on twitter, as always: @hectorpriamids


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